Sweet, malty flavor with honey and little complexity or balance. Drinkable but not worthy of being called a maibock--this is a Euro strong lager, good for consuming a large amount of alcohol with a bearable taste, but not a classic Spring festival style.

I expected good things from this can and I got none of those. This beer tastes as bad as some malt liquors that I have had. Actually, there are numerous malt liquors that taste better than this. The best description of the taste is Budweiser mixed with vodka. Have you ever had it? Maybe not, but if you drink that, then you might be able to give a pretty good review of this beer. The big 7.0 abv on the bottle makes me think that this beer is marketed to the poor and homeless.

Can: Poured a golden color beer with below average head. Aroma is quite weak for a bock and only faint malt can be detected. Taste is very disappointing, kind of like a foul lager. Body is bit thin with some alcohol burn. Total lack of complexity in this beer.

An orange beer with no head. The aroma is slightly sweet - rather boring. The flavor is malty sweet and plain boring.

Light amber,fast fading white head.Nose is stale and light malt.Light malt and corn flavor with unpleasant intrusive alcohol heat.

I can’t possibly delete such a classic rate (Aug 6, 2003) so I’ll keep it below.

Dull golden-accented bronze colour. Aroma is sweet, like honeyed creamed corn with faint grassiness and somewhat less faint alcohol. Bland, creamy body. In typical malt liquor fashion it uses alcohol rather than the touch of grassy hops to cut through the cloying sweetness. Again lots of creamed corn and really bland bready malts. Could be worse...like my previous two samples of this beer those many years ago. This time out - ice cold mind you - it’s at least palatable though not very good.

The classic August 6, 2003 rate (3-2-1-1-1 = 0.8) Light bronze. Lightly malty nose with caramel and noble hop (not so much of the latter, though). Lots of high alcohols. Palate is absolutely nasty - bizarre esters, chemicals and high alcohols conjur up images of rotten pig duodenums floating in Murmansk harbour. I only resist the urge to vomit because to regurgitate this across the palate again would be akin to heaving into a communal pit toilet at an overcrowded refugee camp in the middle of a girardosis outbreak.